


New IDs With Every Turn Around

by gala_apples



Series: Some Day, A Suit [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Anonymity, Canon Rewrite, F/M, Surgery, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York is a very good place to be anonymous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New IDs With Every Turn Around

**Author's Note:**

> This part has a bit of timeline fuckery, in that Neal and Mozzie take some time after meeting before the Adler con starts.

His first week in New York Neal can’t stop walking up and down the streets. He’s social by nature, flourishes surrounded by people, and there are a lot of people here. Especially on the subway. It’s quickly become clear that you don’t get in the way of people on the subway if you value your life. And it’s good that he likes walking, since personal cars seem to be an obsolete idea here. 

Neal meandered a little more getting here than he thought he would when he was planning it out in St. Louis. Hiding in his bedroom from his mom and all the other bastards it was more a matter of what would be the quickest way to get there; bus vs train vs plane vs supersonic rocket. Once Neal got on the road though it was nothing like a straight line. After all, he had to go to Georgia, the origin of the world’s first trans convention. All the major cities in California also made the list. New York has a different vibe to it than the other places Neal’s stayed. In New York he doesn’t feel accepted, or understood, or valued. He feels ignored. Neal’s never felt ignored in his life. He’s always been the weird ‘girl’ who argues about segregated gym class until ‘she’ gets an F for the period. Here no one looks at him twice, unless, of course, he gets in the way on the subway. It is, in a word, glorious.

So he’s walking around, no different than any other day, when he comes across a Three Card Monte game. Neal takes the challenge and puts down fifty, then waits until the other shills start heckling to act hotheaded and bump up to five hundred. Neal watches the dealer rearrange the cards. It’s a matter of pride to figure out where the queen would be, even if it’s ultimately irrelevant. When the cards stop moving he drops in his own queen. He walks away with the grand. One more game won on a street corner and he’ll enough to pay his rent for a week. New York prices are kind of crazy. 

It’s standard fare until one of the spectators is knocking at his door. The guy with the bad hairpiece at least admits he’s the guy from the park. Neal still closes the door in his face. He’s not stupid.

But Hairpiece is persistent, and non-threatening. Despite better judgement Neal ends up opening the door again, this time undoing the chain lock. The guy is looking to trade partners. He says it’s a trade up, that he thinks Neal is extremely skilled. Neal would love a partner. The world of cons quadruples over what he has now with two people. But this could get ugly if Mozzie finds out about him later. He already has first hand experience with that, in San Diego. He had to leave out a window, and leave everything behind except for one of his money bundles and a few vials of T.

For the first time in months Neal breaks his anonymity. “I’m not pulling any cons as a girl. That’s a line I won’t cross. And I won’t be able to do any cons nude either, or in spandex. My binder...”

“No naked cons. Got it. Why?”

Did he not make this clear? This is getting perilously close to coming out, and every time Neal uses that defining word instead of just explaining the situation he remembers his mom’s reaction; a shudder and a recoil and immediate, consistent denial.

“I’m transgender. My body and my mind don’t match.”

“Ah.”

“Ah? That’s what you’re giving me?” It’s been a problem of his for years and his potential partner has one syllable? “It doesn’t bother you that I’m some mental freak that has a problem with having boobs?” It sounds bad saying it out loud, but Neal’s heard worse, up until the day that he dropped out of school, up until the day that he sprinted from his mother’s house.

Mozzie scoffs. “There’s a world of difference between truth and facts.”

“Okay?”

“Maya Angelou. Work with me and we’ll get you cultured, kid.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

(Over a decade later Neal will end up getting the phrase tattooed over his shoulder blade, never mind Mozzie’s horror of both needle contamination and having permanent identifiable marks.)

***

His very first alter ego will be everything Neal left St. Louis to escape; a depressed, self loathing girl. But Jessica Rogers will be a depressed self-loathing girl with an official diagnosis of gender identity disorder, a legal history of hormone replacement therapy, the proper paperwork, and a six figure loan from Mozzie. 

They go to a private clinic. Even Mozzie, who loathes all forms of The System, knows that GRS is not the sort of surgery you want to get done underground. It’s not like prying a bullet out of your own leg and supergluing the skin back together. It’s serious, and more than that, delicate.

Afterwards Mozzie helps him hobble inside Thursday. If Neal doubted it before -which he didn’t- he can be certain now that Mozzie cares. There’s nary a complaint about having to stay in the same building for the length of Neal’s recovery, even though he usually moves from day to day. It doesn’t actually turn out that way. By day three Mozzie’s paying his pre-teen minions to follow Neal’s every order, Or Else, while he goes elsewhere to blow glass and attend art shows and do whatever else he does when he’s not planning cons. Still, he doesn’t say anything about a decent hide out being burned by endless foot traffic, which counts for a lot.

The caring doesn’t stop there. Mozzie doesn’t let him drink wine, since alcohol dehydrates the skin and might make scarring worse. He does however keep Neal in an endless supply of not-quite-legal, and apparently far better, pharmaceuticals for the pain. He brings in take-out from all over the city, and repackages it when Neal falls asleep mid-meal. He even gives him daily problems, like _create a con that needs eight people, no more, no less_ and _create a con that is done with the aide of three separate elevator rides_ and _figure out how to sell a first contact species honey and bedsheets_. Most of Neal’s answers at the end of the day are ridiculous, but he appreciates his mind being occasionally prodded at to get out from under the haze of painkillers.

Most importantly, Mozzie understands symbolism. One of the first things Neal wants to do when he leaves the hospital is burn Jessica’s license and other documentation. Mozzie doesn’t lecture him about the waste of an alias, because he’s never once suggested that a con might run more easily if Neal was a woman. Instead he just makes Neal wear a gas mask when they realise he can’t get off the bed to a more ventilated area. The plastic social security card chars under the lighter, turning black before melting. Neal watches it with satisfaction. It might say Jessica Rogers, but he’s burning away Dani Brooks. He’s officially no longer her, officially anonymous. He can never go back.

***

He and Mozzie almost have sex once. It’s months after his phalloplasty, and it’s not like Neal didn’t know there’d be reduced sensation. He did his research, and he was never dumb enough to think that everything would be perfect. But he still hasn’t reconciled that with curling his hand around his dick and barely feeling it. The simple thrill of actually having one has worn off, mostly. All he’s left with is the frustration that even after all that time and money and pain, it’s still not _right_.

Mozzie’s losing his mind watching Neal lose his mind. It’s possible that they’re a little codependent. Neal has a hard time seeing that as a bad thing. Aside from Ellen no one’s ever unconditionally cared before, and even she didn’t bother to tell him a truth that had unknowingly defined his life for a decade and a half. So when Mozzie starts giving him that look like he’s analysing a problem for the optimal solution, Neal lets him. Mozzie’s the only one who deserves to.

He asks during the commercial of an It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia episode. “Back before- I’m going on the assumption that you didn’t like others touching the genitals you weren’t supposed to have?”

“No. I didn’t.” That’s not true for all people like him, a few conversations at Southern Comfort cleared that up. People that don’t transition don’t spend their entire lives celibate. But Neal doesn’t have to say that, because if anyone doesn’t believe in one person speaking for an entire group, it’s Mozzie. Moz won’t assume he is speaking for more than himself.

“But you and Carrie still got off together?”

“Yes.” Maybe not so much towards the end, but that was a personalities clash thing, not a drop in arousal.

“How?”

The answer tickling seems to stun Mozzie, but he rebounds quickly. “Interesting.”

They stop talking as Mac and Charlie come back on screen. A lot of Sunny’s allure comes from the dialogue. It wouldn’t do to talk over it. The moment the next commercial break begins though, Mozzie sticks an arm out and digs in at Neal’s ribcage. It’s a shock, one that starts out pleasant and rapidly morphs into very pleasant.

“When in doubt go with the classics, I guess,” Neal gasps.

“Yeah? Good. So that works. Now go finish with anyone but me.”

While Mozzie means well, Neal’s not entirely sure he’s right. That’s why it takes him three days to go to a bar. It’s the first time he’s ever bothered to go to one. Not that it’s him going, persay. Tonight he’s here to be Kent Vine, lonely and horny. He even had a new ID made for it. It’s a rush job with not a lot of talent behind it. That’ll teach him not to farm out jobs, even when he doesn’t feel like doing his own. It’s enough to get him past the bouncer and get his hand stamped as legal to drink though, which is hopefully all he’ll need it for. 

He likes the music even less than he thought he would. What Neal does like are all the people that surround him. It’s almost as good as walking around at noon. No one seems to give a thought about brushing up against him. The number of wallets he could have in five minutes, if he wanted, is astronomical. He doesn’t though. Not tonight. 

A woman approaches as he’s buying his first drink, a boring vodka on the rocks. He doesn’t buy top shelf because Kent Vine would never waste the money. The quality she orders is even lower. She seems like a good option. She’s sober enough to freely give consent, but drunk enough to not notice the scars on either side of his chest. Vitamin oil has helped a little in reducing them, but not a lot.

They kiss and it’s fire on his tongue and wax on his lips. It’s nothing like the kisses he used to exchange with Carrie. When she whispers in his ear, barely audible over the bass thumping around them, that they should go somewhere more private, he doesn’t even know her name. Neal agrees that they should, because that’s the point of tonight.

Her idea of private is one of the bathrooms. The women clustered around the mirror don’t say anything as she pushes him into the stall with the strength of the drunk. Their silence is nice, since this is most likely illegal. Public indecency, or some such. She digs her nails into his sweaty back, hem rucked up from his belt. He fingers her, cunt squeezing around his knuckles. They unlock the door when they’re both satisfied. They don’t exchange numbers, and he leaves her to touch up her makeup.

After that Neal continues to be a dozen people. During the day he’s working the crowds under a few different aliases, earning himself the cash and more importantly the rep to deal for some decent equipment, for quality contacts. He can’t just ride Mozzie’s coat tails, he needs to plan his own cons too. At night he has one night stands, using his skill with his hands and base flattery to figure out what that night’s perfect stranger wants. Usually they try to reciprocate. Sometimes they want to fuck. Luckily he’s got half a dozen work-arounds memorised, from _I’d rather you scratch me/spank me/bite me_ to _whiskey dick_ to _doing that to you was so hot I already came._

And then Nick Halden meets Kate Moreau. It’s the first time he’s flirted with a woman he’ll have to see more than once. She seems worth the change in routine though. He stops sleeping around, but invests even more heavily in Kate not knowing who he is. The lies keep him safe, keep them both happy.

The lies become a kink when she finally finds out the truth, after Adler cuts and runs, imploding his business around him. Mozzie’s mad at him for sinking so much of his money in but it’s hard for Neal to worry about that when each night Kate and a different man drink cheap wine from an expensive bottle together and screw. He’s got a dozen different cocks to go with his personas. A few of them even match their man’s favourite suit.

The beginning of the end - not that he knows it at the time- is when Alex sends him an origami tulip signifying the music box she’s obsessed with. When Neal calls her he’s pretty sure she’s leaving out details, but it still sounds like a good time for all involved. 

The mistake he makes is understandable. Instead of attempting to sell the con to Kate, which will be a pain in the ass because she likes details and he doesn’t know them, Neal underweaves it into a long-term vacation. It’s good in theory. If they can make it to Copenhagen they can ‘accidentally’ meet Alex and she’ll invite them in over wine and pastries. Kate is far more likely to say yes face to face. It’s bad in execution. Kate’s already figured out the flower, and she makes a big deal about him conning her.

She refuses to go to Europe with him. It’s a huge drama, a fight that lasts days. It ends with her shouting that it’s impossible to just take his word for it when he never tells her anything and storming out to stay with a cousin. Neal suddenly feels viciously proud of never telling her about his past. Only Mozzie knows his entire life has been a grift, a con to be seen the way he wants to be seen.

His karmic lesson is the job falling apart. Alex gets hurt, bad enough for an ambulance, which means being registered which means prison as soon as she’s well enough. Neal has no choice but to flee and Kate’s gone when he gets home. She’s not at her cousin’s. She’s not anywhere he can find.

He makes a few mistakes in his need to beckon Kate to him. There’s no such thing as a job too big, but there’s most definitely such a thing as a job not thought out enough. Neal’s busy being a one man fireworks display, each con bigger and noisier than the last. He doesn’t have time to tie off every end, beginning the next job the day after Kate doesn’t call, and he leaves enough strings that Burke catches him. 

Well, technically Burke catches Nick Halden. And that’s not the only alias the F.B.I knows about. A full wallet worth of names come out during the trial, though none of the charges stick. A few aliases remain his though. Jacques Domier is safe. Kyle Saperstein is safe. Todd Bentley is safe. Dani Brooks is safe, and that’s by far the most important to Neal.

It takes Neal two and a half weeks to find a way to get T in prison. In a lower security prison he could use another prisoner, since all prisons have a flourishing drug trade, but things being as they are it has to be a guard. Neal’s tense towards the end of his drought, when his body isn’t acting right, but he manages to make a deal. He doesn’t even need to sell his ass to get it, though he probably would if it came down to that. He’ll owe a few favours when he gets out, a few promised forgeries, but he’s done more for less reason.

With that primary concern taken care of it’s time to settle in. It’s four years of his life, yes, but it’s only four years. And it’s kind of a prize to be sent to supermax. A compliment, of sorts. Not that Neal wants to serve time, or have the word of mouth about his perfect record tarnished. But he’s surrounded by hundreds of dangerous men because they think he is one. Burke, the judge, all the alphabet Suits, they all believe Neal’s a dangerous man, proving they don’t really know him at all. And that- that glorious sheen of ultimate anonymity might be enough to sustain him through the coming years.


End file.
